


GEMINI ILLUSION

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Chaos, F/M, Familial Issues, IF WE EVER GET ISSUE #6 VALVE, Mostly likely non-canon but it could happen, Random headcanon about the scouts, fallout from Meet the Spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: RED Scout decides to take Spy to task, in front of their confused teammates, after the events of Meet the Spy and what was revealed. Which leads to several unanticipated secrets being divulged; and the realisation that maybe the team didn't know much about their youngest member whatsoever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a very specific headcanon I had at 3am one morning, that wouldn't fuck off until I wrote this.  
> Behold my trash.

The first that RED Spy knew of his teammate’s ire, was the sudden vertigo of being violently whirled about-face without warning; and immediately understood the action meant significant hostility aimed at his person,  the very moment his back collided with the unforgiving metal of the respawn room lockers. The room snapping into full focus with Scout’s angry expression  _ far too close _ to his own masked face, for either of their comforts.

 

The young man’s visage was contorted with a rage that the runner was clearly about to unleash on the espionage agent. Idly, the Frenchman wondered which imagined slight it was for this time; the last time they’d come to physical blows had been over the fact Spy had inadvertently tossed one of the runner’s beloved comic books. To be fair, he had thought it nothing more than a ratty magazine crammed under the common room couch; though the impetuous brat had not seen it that way, no matter how carefully the matter had been explained. Demo and Solly had been forced to separate the pair before someone was run through respawn in their pyjamas. 

  
  


With a sigh, Spy utilises a series of mental exercises that had served well over his long, illustrious career that occasionally included altercations and torture; carefully forcing various parts of his body, muscle groups and tendons, to relax their reactive tension. It had the desired effect of easing the brutal press of jutting metallic knobs in his spine; perhaps not as much as he would have hoped for, but enough to forestall any major bruising… for now. 

Though, sadly, the manoeuvre does nothing to preserve the carefully-ironed lines of his suit; previously still spick and span, despite the recent battle, as he had respawned near the end of the final match. Now the designer fabric had been carelessly rumpled by the Scout’s bloody, bandaged fists, as the brash American twisted the fabric in calloused paws; seemingly  in order to best manipulate the slightly taller mercenary. 

 

He does not have to wait long for the furious Bostonian to spout his reasoning for this post-match assault on his person. Those cold blue eyes, so startlingly familiar, burn their hate-infused gaze into Spy’s own.

  
  


“Just what da FUCK are ya doin’ with these, Spy?” Scout yells, releasing his grip just long enough to slam a handful of photos into the red suited chest. Spy is forced to fumble to retrieve them, lest they hit the floor before he can ascertain what all this noise is about.

 

Other members of RED, those who were not still waiting to respawn, had begun to close in about them. Some amused by the altercation, and others visibly puzzling out how best to separate the pair, before it came to anything too violent. They’d all had enough of battle to last them until at least tomorrow morning, after all. 

  
  


Spy takes a moment to glance down at the series of small, thin squares haphazardly clutched in his gloved hands; frowning deeply at the realisation of what they were. Eerily familiar, and rather embarrassing, Scout had decidedly retrieved the unfortunate series of polaroid pictures gathered by the BLU Spy.

The Frenchman stalls by shuffling them into some semblance of order, and sliding them into his coat pocket; as he did with most items that would be cumbersome to carry, otherwise. Thankfully, though he remained quite close, the Scout was no longer practically flush against his own form; thus allowing the manoeuvre. Not to say the batter had released him whatsoever… at least one of those bandaged hands was still wound in Spy’s magenta suit jacket; plainly preventing the other from simply cloaking, and leaving the confrontation altogether. 

 

How… interesting. It displayed to the older man that the Scout appeared to have some small degree of intelligence in that oddly-shaped head of his. Planning to counter the Spy’s strengths, through use his own more physical attributes and abilities. Had this situation been otherwise, perhaps the Frenchman could have been proud to have rubbed off on the impulsive batter… and yet, all he could feel was a steadily rising sense of annoyance.

 

With a swift strike upwards at a nerve cluster in the Scout’s arm, he manages to fling the restrictive hold from his attire. That action gains a startled yelp, and sees the batter utter a word  _ so unbelievably profane _ that the boy’s mother was probably already on her way here from Boston to wash Scout’s mouth out with soap, as they spoke. 

  
  


Adopting his characteristically smug air, Spy smiled at the youngest RED; intimating, with just a sly grin, that he somehow held control of this situation, and knew more than Scout ever would. Which did not help lessen the tension in the air, but Spy definitely enjoyed the way the youngest mercenary paused in confusion; his brutal tactics not having the desired effect of intimidating the other into speaking. 

 

“If you must know, Scout,” he says, idly smoothing down his suit jacket. “I ‘ad attempted to confiscate zhem from ze BLU Spy as ‘e showed zhem off to ‘is team, earlier in ze match. My plan would ‘ave been successful, ‘ad a certain  _ idiot child _  not let ze other team know I was not, in fact,  zeir Engineer.”

 

The withering glance he throws the boy should have made the batter back down… instead, Scout fails to even acknowledge the statement.

 

“Well then WHY DA FUCK’D BLU SPY HAVE THE-... ya know what? Dat ain’t da real issue here, ‘cause ya  _ both _ a pair of freaky fuckin’ french bastards, and I wouldn’t be surprised if ya’d rigged up a camera in da showers at this point.” Scout’s accent grew steadily more insufferable, to the non-native English speaker, by the syllable. Still the boy persisted, to Spy’s ever-increasing frustration. “ I just-.... All I wanna know, Spook, is... why her? I mean, ya pretty clear about da fact dat ya can have any lady - _ or, let’s face it fancypants, any guy _ \- out dere… and ya had ta choose this one.  _ Why her? _ ”

 

This situation was spiralling rather rapidly down the rabbit hole, from Spy’s perspective. Scout’s aggression made no sense, and nothing in his extensive mental database of information was turning up any useful leads as to the basis for this nonsense.

 

“Oh,” He asks, projecting an air of nonchalance instead. “And why would you care for zhis particular woman,  _ mon petit lapin _ ?” 

 

He’s roughly slammed against the lockers again, before the nearby Sniper or Engineer can intervene. 

“‘Cause she’s my Ma, ya ugly French fuck!” Scout screams in his his mask-clad face. The hands that once more twisted into his poor suit’s jacket were trembling with fury.

 

Startled, by the ferocity and the absurdity of the situation, but scrambling not to show it; Spy takes a second to formulate a response. Finally deadpanning, “Would you care to elaborate on ‘ow you came to believe zhis claim to be true?”

 

“Oh I’ll  _ elab-uh-ate _ all right,  _ pallie _ . For some reason, _ you _ ,” the runner jabs a fingers into the man’s chest, to emphasise the point. “ya fruity French bastard, are banging  _ my Ma _ … in a buncha pictures dat apparently all’a freaking BLU team has fuckin’ seen. _ Did I elab-uh-rate dat enough for ya, or should I try again _ ?” 

 

“Ah,” everything was suddenly making a great deal more sense to Spy. “You are confused, Scout. Ze pictures depict BLU Scout’s mother; and although I am certain she is quite similar to your own-...”

 

Scout’s condescending laughter cuts off the remainder of his sentence. “Nice try, chucklenuts, but it don’t change a thing ‘bout the situation. Dat’s my Ma in those fancy little photos BLU Spy snapped… and as ya probably guessin’ right now, she’s also BLU Scout’s Ma too. So, y’know, prepare ta die  _ ya croissant-bonking motherfucker _ .”

 

Spy was in such a state of mental disarray, that he failed to point out to the angry younger man that his insults needed work. Clinging desperately to his facade of unflappability, he chose to make a show of raising his eyebrows a the new information. 

 

“Are you implying zhat you and ze other Scout are related,  _ mon petit lapin _ ?” he asks, simultaneously stalling, and requesting clarification of the boy.

 

For his part, Scout lets out a derisive snort and rolls those eerily familiar blue eyes; and it takes Spy a moment to realise they’re identical to those of BLU Scout, which is where he had seen them before. He jerks back to the situation at hand as the youngest RED flicks him on the forehead, checking whether the espionage agent was actually listening to him or not. 

 

“Hey, ya in dere?” taunts the brat, much to Spy’s displeasure. His scowl is apparently confirmation enough for Scout to keep talking. “Good, ‘cause it sounds like this is gonna blow ya mind, yeah? Me’n’da BLU Scout… we’re freaking twins, genius. I thought you Spooks knew everythin’ about all’a us, ‘cause it’s ya job ta know and all.”

 

At the silence following the statement, Scout takes a step away from Spy to look back over the rest of the team members who were loitering about to watch the confrontation. They all stared back blankly.

 

Perturbed, but covering it with bravado as per usual, Scout flung his arms up in frustration.

“Are ya fuckin’ kidding me, guys? None’a ya noticed…  _ really _ ?” he grumbles a moment, then apparently decides to lay it out in simple terms, for the doddery old guys he’s forced to work with. “Didja really think it was a fuckin’ coincidence dat someone who looks freakin’ dead-ringer identical ta me, randomly showed up on da same day, at da same time… with all’a da same abilities… and in the same freaking merc-Class…?”

 

Well, when he put it that way… the similarities were starting to crop up rather significantly for the rest of RED. 

  
  


Trying to save face, Spy cleared his throat into a gloved hand. “There was no indication of you two being twins in any of the extensive background information provided for your Class, Scout. Nor, it would seem, any physical proof of such a claim in any of ze familial photos on file.”

 

“Cute,” Scout counters, pointing at the man with a cocky grin. “But consider this… dere’s always gonna hafta be someone holdin’ da camera, no matter how much ya want a full family portrait. And when ya got identical twins, it makes choosin’ who gets left out a lot easier… ‘cause if one’a us is in da pic, then whoever’s looking at it knows exactly what da pair’a us looked like at da time it was taken. It just makes sense, yeah?”

  
  


“Interesting, mon amie… but if you are indeed identical as you claim, zhen ‘ow do you explain ze fact that BLU’s runner ‘as a different ‘air colour, and birthdate, to yours?” Spy grins like the cheshire cat, daring the runner to address these gaping plotholes. 

 

“Okay, ignorin’ for now dat ya just divin’ for loopholes ta save ya pride, Spook…” Scout gives him a knowing look, that the older mercenary chooses to ignore. “It’s actually real simple. He just lost da game of rock-paper-scissors da Administrator made us play, before sendin’ us out here ta Teufort.” 

 

“Literally none of ze sentence zhat just came out of your mouth made any sense whatsoever?” Spy fumbles for an eloquent response, and finds nothing. 

  
  


“She. wanted us. ta look. like we ain’t. twins... yeah?” Scout drawls at the Frenchman, a smug smirk forming as he spoke; and Spy had to reign in the overwhelming impulse to slap it right off the runner’s face. 

“So she made us play rock-paper-scissor in fronta her, ta see who had ta dye their hair, and who hadta forfeit our real birthday, so dat not even da Spooks would guess we’re related. Neither of us won, not really. Dan-... uh,  _ BLU Scout _ , lost and now he’s gotta keep dyin’ his hair blonde until we leave… and I gotta pretend I was born on some random date once a year. I mean, I appreciate the surprise parties, fellas, but it’s  _ literally _ a  _ huge freakin’ surprise _ every year, ‘cause I keep forgetting what the fake date is…”

 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Sniper mutters, mostly to himself. Engineer, sitting beside him, nods along with the comment; expression suddenly pensieve. 

 

Beyond them, Demo falls out onto the floor of respawn. Swiftly followed by Medic, who wobbles upright and drags the Scot out of the way before Heavy comes tumbling back to life where the explosive-expert had been sprawled a second earlier. They were still waiting on Soldier and Pyro, but apparently, the pair had held out a tad longer than the others; because the machine returned to it’s inanimate cycling mode once more.

 

Medic, finally stepping away from Heavy, to peruse the room; immediately picks up that something is amiss, and straightens his glasses. “Vhat is happening in here?” he asks the room at large. “Scout,  _ vhat did you do _ ?”

  
  


“Hey, it ain’t my fault for once! And-...” Scout’s expression devolves into a glare at the Doctor. “ _ Why wouldya just assume it was me who did somethin’ bad…  _ Spy’s the bastard who’s sleeping with our Ma!” 

 

A chorus of disbelief echoes the statement, from various personnel in the room.

 

Scout laughs again, this time bordering on hysterical. “Aw shit, does anyone in this freakin’ place not know by now? Me’n’da BLU Scout are twins, we both lost a game of rock-paper-scissors da Admin dragon-lady made us play, so he’s gotta go blonde, and I lost our birthday… and this French fuck over here is banging our Ma, but apparently he’s so bad at his freakin’ job, da BLU Spy got a handful of waaaay-too-candid pics of them… ugh,  _ together _ .”

  
  


Demo slinks over to his locker to break out the hard stuff he’d secreted away in there, because it looked like everyone was going to need a drink after this resolved. 

  
  


“And I assume zhat if ze Administrator ‘erself asked you two to keep zhis a secret…” Spy prodded the Scout, who went pale in response. Anger deserting the poor boy as reality crashed back down.

 

“ _ Fuck _ , ya right. She ain’t gonna be happy dat I toldya ‘bout any’a this. We were supposed ta keep it on the downlow, for some reason.” The runner gushed, worrying at a bandaged knuckle with his teeth; clearly running through long lists of excuses he might be able to present to The Administrator, when she inevitably called him to account for this breach of confidential information. 

  
  


Engineer steps up, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder in consolation. 

“Well, ah reckon it was bound ta come out some time, son.” the Texan assures, imbuing calm in the situation. “But as long as we know, ain’t much she can do about it, and it might just be okay for us ta getcha birthday right this year… assuming we ain’t missed it already.”

 

At the cocked eyebrow, Scout laughs. “Nah, it’s at da end’a May, we got a few months ta go before dat comes up. Maybe I should tell  _ Dan-... _ er, BLU Scout he can give up da whole blonde look, now I’ve let da cat outta da bag. Any more’a dat peroxide stuff, and I think his brain’ll rot right outta his skull… or maybe he can suffer a bit longer, considerin’.” 

 

“It’d be the right thing ta do, son, but ah ain’t gonna  _ make _ ya.” Engie responded, tone making it quite clear that there would be passive-aggressive paternal-disappointment-level hell to pay, should the runner not follow through on alleviating his twin’s suffering. “Now, it might be a mite insensitive ta ask, but… how is it ya so comfortable with the idea of going into battle each day, knowin’ ya gonna hafta kill ya own brother ta win. ‘Cause ah know you two face off more’n once a match, and either way, someone has ta go down before we can separate you Scouts.” 

  
  


“Heh, dat’s easy Engie… _ I freakin’ hate da bastard _ . Not as much as I’d like ta throttle Spook over there for gettin’ freaky with our Ma,  _ and then gettin’ caught doin’ it _ ,” the runner throws a pointed glare at the Spy. “but somewhere in that vi-sin-ity, yeah.”

 

“Well, brothers fight ‘n all, Scout, but ah’m just havin’ trouble seein’ how it is you justify actually gettin’ excited ta bludgeon him ta death everytime ya see him on the field.” Engie extrapolates, gesturing with his free, human hand, as if to emphasise his emotional position on the situation. 

 

“Nah, ain’t got nothin’ ta do with dat, Engie. It’s real easy ta understand… we  _ hate _ each other.” The runner plonks down on a nearby bench, completely ignoring the fact he’d just exposed his entire back for their team’s irate Spy to backstab at leisure. Thankfully, the man restrained himself, even if only just.

 

“Dat smug fuck was born like two freakin’ minutes earlier, and he’s never let me forget it. Everything’s a big old competition, too. Grades ta growth spurts, it was always about who was better, faster, worth more than da other overall. And da fact we’re both great at da exact same thing ain’t helping none. All be different if Danny was an artsy type or something, and great at dat… ‘cause then it wouldn’t be com-pra-ble ta the sporty shit I like ta do, yeah? We’re just too similar, and we fuckin’ hate each other for it.” Scout explains in a torrent of words, that leave the listeners feeling dizzy as they try to interpret all that was said.

  
  


For his part, Spy snorts around the newly-lit cigarette in his mouth, and grins. “Familiarity does tend to breed contempt, oui, I ‘ave ‘eard.”

 

“Ya might think it’s funny, Spook, but da fact we can get away with literally freakin’ killin’ each other every single day of the week without consequence is totally fuckin’ awesome, alright? And ta top it off, we get paid ta do it.” He pauses, uncharacteristically pensive. “Does tend ta make holidays a tad weird, though. When we get time off ta go see Ma at Christmas and shit.”

 

Spy removes the cigarette with a flourish, and coats the closest REDs in his smoky exhale; much to their disgust. “Is zhat why zhere is a long list of rules pinned to ze refrigerator in your ‘ome? Ze one labelled, ‘ _ Scout is no longer allowed to’ _ , _ mon petit lapin _ ?”

  
  


In the background, Respawn whirrs to life once more, disgorging the last two members of RED in swift order. Pyro and their heavy weapon landing heavily upon the confused Soldier, who barks out something that sounded like a threat to court-martial the firebug; before Heavy intervened, dragging the pair upright. The Russian took charged of the two with the practiced ease of someone with younger siblings, keeping them quiet as Scout floundered for a good response to Spy’s jab; in the foreground of the continuing drama that was unfolding before the now-complete team, whether they liked it or not.

 

Instead of allowing his verbal sparring partner to recover, Spy pressed his advantage. 

“In all ‘onesty, I ‘ad been under ze impression zhat it was simply for one of you, alone; but if zhere has been a concentrated, unified effort between siblings, zhen it is no wonder it ‘as grown so extensive. Tell me,” the man took a long drag of his coffin nail, ignoring the scandalised expression on RED Scout’s face. “‘ow is it zhat you and your, uh... brother, managed number thirty-eight?”

 

Caught off-guard, Scout mumbles back, “...which one was dat? Dere’s a lotta rules on dat list, Spook, I can’t remember all’a da damn things.”

 

“I do believe it was something to the wording of, ‘ _ No Scout is allowed access to, or indiscriminate utilisation of, the familial Christmas tree without the supervision of an approved adult _ ’. Under which was a handwritten addendum stating zhat  _ none _ of your older brothers were qualified to attain ze position of ‘responsible adult’, and could not provide supervision without consequence to themselves. It was quite an interesting read, lapin, you two seem to provoke chaos wherever you go.” Spy downright beams at the Bostonian, who recoils in utter horror.

 

He recovers, minutely, in time to respond. “Okay, ignorin’ for now dat ya were in our home long enough ta not only notice da list, but read it ta da end… it ain’t like there’s any great story behind dat particular rule, or nothing. Just… our first Christmas home after startin’ here, things got a little heated at present-opening, and one’a us found a way ta weaponise da tree against da other, yeah? Simple as dat.”

  
  


Incredulity seemed to be spreading through his teammates at an alarming rate.

 

“...zhat would ‘ave to be ze shortest story you ‘ave ever regaled us with, Scout.” Spy manages, narrowing his eyes at the batter. “Therefore I can only conclude zhat you are deliberately with’olding key elements of ze story… a first for you, non?” 

 

“Ah,  _ fuck you too, _ Spy. So what if I am, what’re ya gonna do, call Ma and ask?” Scout sneers back at the Frenchman.

 

Who simply responds, “ _ Oui _ .”

 

The younger man’s bluster disappeared immediately, replaced in equal parts by confusion and disbelief. “...wait, _ what _ ?”

  
  


“Oh, it is very simple, Scout. If you will not tell us, I will simply call your mother and ask what ‘appened to necessitate ze rule… I am certain it is a fascinating story zhat ze rest of your RED comrades would greatly enjoy ‘earing.” Spy returns, feigning nonchalance, and quashing the desire to laugh aloud at the way the youngest mercenary’s cheeks flush red with rage.

 

“Whoa, no ya don’t!” he yells, half-standing to have a go at Spy, only for Engie to shove him back on the bench. 

He sulks, visibly, for a few seconds before deciding to get over it. “It ain’t even dat spec-tack-yoo-lah neither, but if ya wanna hear it, I’ll tell ya. Look, me’n _ ’his fuckin’ majesty over there at BLU _ were havin’ a spat over somethin’ work related, and things got outta hand, like usual. And it mighta involved da Christmas tree, orna-mints and all, bein’ used in place’a a bat… while da whole family was dere. Ma stopped it the minute she heard us tryin’ ta kill each other festively, but we’d already broken da thing in half. Like I said, ain’t dat exciting.”

 

The Texan decides to ask the obvious, on behalf of the avidly-listening rest-of-the-room. “Why didn't ya brothers break it up, son?”

 

Scout makes an odd noise of amusement. “Er, ‘cause dey love it when we fight?  _ Duh _ , Engie. The lot of ‘em just shout encouragement and place bets on who’s gonna win. Specially now we’re working on opposite teams professionally, and all.” 

 

He looks across the rest of the team; the majority of which appear rather taken aback. Excepting Heavy, who nods thoughtfully; knowingly.

 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say everyone but da shaved bear there, is an only child… yeah? ‘Cause,  _ here’s a fun secret _ … siblings are da literal worst thing dat can ever happen ta ya; but also, kinda real freakin’ great too. Depends on who ya are, I suppose, and how many siblings ya end up with.” 

 

“But,” he continues, whirling back around to face down Spy once more. “none’a dat changes da fact dat ya ain’t explained  _ why _ , or even  _ how _ , ya found our Ma, Spook.” 

  
  


“Oh? Who says zhat I found ‘er? Per’aps ze mademoiselle sought myself out, instead. Did you not feel such a zhing was possible, in that peanut-shaped brain of yours, lapin?” Spy retorts, starting to rather enjoy toying with the boy. In much the same way a cat delights in finding something small to prey upon.

 

“Aw, enough with da fuckin’ ‘ _ rabbit _ ’ thing, Spook, and stop tryin’ ta distract us.” Scout sighs in frustration. 

 

Spy nearly drops his cigarette, trying to recall if there had been any occasion wherein he’d actually told the brat what ‘ _ lapin _ ’ translated to in English, and finding not even the vaguest trace of such a memory. Before he can ask, the runner has already done what he does best, and rushed on to the next topic; casually switching between subjects, and emotional states, with confusing ease.

  
  


“Besides, I doubt Ma’d go lookin’ for anyone anymore, least of all  _ ya creepy French ass _ … ‘cause she’s always goin’ on about our dad, and how he’s gonna come home some day, or somethin’ along those lines. Pretty sure it’s thanks ta all those romance novels she’s always readin’, where everyone gets a happy endin’ with enough love or money or luck; but it ain’t like we got much’a any of those things.” Scout shrugs, entirely ambivalent to the whole scenario. 

“‘Sides, the others didn’t work out so well; our brothers’ dads, dat is. I mean, yeah, it’d be interestin’ to find out who he is, or whatever, just for da sake of it. ‘Cause mosta our brothers have met deirs, even if dey turned out ta be colossal  _ assho- _ ...disappointments in da end; at least they know, yeah? But what can ya do?”

 

“And does your mother make an ‘abit of maintaining contact with all of her former… partners,  _ petit lapin _ ? Or only the few she feels might like to meet zheir children?” Spy asks, eyebrows raised behind the mask, far more engaged in the subject of conversation than he would admit… even under threat of torture.

 

The runner makes a dismissive gesture at him. “Nah, mostly it’s just chance. Some of ‘em are from other parts’a da country, and others are _ from _ other countries; so da fact they even came back ta Boston for any reason was a surprise for Ma. Not all’a them were bad guys, though. Like, a few stayed around a bit, apparently; ta meet their kid -  _ which didn’t always go so well, sure _ \- but at least dat question got answered for both sides’a da equation. The, uh, the ‘ _ who _ ’, dat is. And sometimes da ‘ _ why _ ’ they left, as well.”

  
  


Engineer’s expression was an interesting one to behold; Scout noted, from out of the corner of his eye, as he spoke. As a man of  _ vaguely traditional values _ , the concept of a whole brood of children to different fathers clearly rubbed the Texan a tad wrong; but nothing rustled the builder moreso than the idea of someone, or in this case several someones, just up and abandoning their parental duties so blatantly.

Everyone on RED, and a few of BLU too, knew Engie had a young daughter of his own back in Bee Cave. A little ray of intelligent sunshine whom he desperately wished to see most days; with his only solace regarding their separation being the knowledge that, fighting in this never-ending battle meant that she got everything she wanted, needed, deserved and desired. In addition to having the funding to attend the best schools available.

Engie was always showing the team some new letter or diagram the little girl had sent, too. Looked like she was going to follow on in his footsteps; based on the blueprints they had received for various odd machines and doodads that the Texan had proudly shoved in the faces of his teammates until they responded positively. It wasn’t that they weren’t delighted for the man over his daughter’s progress; it was just… sometimes being hungover as hell required quiet time, not positively-manic parental pride being crammed in your face until you can muster the energy to respond enthusiastically about whatever new invention the young lady had dreamt up this time. 

Not to mention, the lovely family portraits that she had also drawn and sent, alongside her letters; which were of some significant concern to the rest of RED -  _ including Medic, of all people _ \- given that the eight year old was  _ also _ depicted as having a gunslinger attachment. Engie seemed quite proud, and a little trepidatious about that; as she definitely had two human hands when he left his hometown. But a phonecall to his sister, who was minding the young miss, reassured them all that she hadn’t, uh,  _ followed in her father’s footsteps _ just yet. 

 

Still, his paternal instincts were deep-rooted and could not be silenced even out here, in the middle of literal nowhere, surrounded by nine mercenaries; all people from various walks of life. From day one, Engie had twigged to the fact that one of the team couldn’t even legally purchase alcohol; and another one believed that fire somehow equated love and rainbows… which finally gave him an outlet. Those parental energies settled for perpetually monitoring, encouraging, chastising, teaching  _ and occasionally grounding _ … both the team’s Scout and Pyro; much to their eternal frustration. 

Then again, it was hard to argue with a man whose mechanical genius could pose significant threat to your life; anywhere from a sentry in the showers, through turning the fridge against you, to making certain a dispenser didn’t read your class as friendly mid-match. RED Scout vividly recalled the first time he’d argued back against being ‘grounded’, so to speak, for encouraging Pyro to set Spy’s smoking room on fire. He still doesn’t  _ quite  _ trust the dishwasher… but at least he’s never gone against Engie’s rulings, again.

 

Though, the misplaced need to provide guidance and barriers to their younger, more malleable teammates, was what saw the Texan party to this ongoing conversation. Mostly, he’d sat quiet and provided support in a non-verbal fashion; a hand on the runner’s shoulder, a few redirectional questions, and periodic warning glares at Spy, from behind those iconic goggles. 

But now it felt time to interject, contribute to the spiralling conversation, before the Scout dug himself into an emotional hole and plum sulked his way through the next week.

  
  


“Now son, ah can’t deny that it don’t sound like an ideal family set-up, but it can’t be too bad if ya made it out here. The Administrator only chooses the best of the best, and all.” He provides, prodding at the youngest mercenary’s ego in an effort to raise the overall mood of the room. 

 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Scout frowns at the idea, completely failing to rise to the bait, to the  blatant confusion of many a teammate present. “Ya never know, might’a gone just da same even if we did know who the bastard was… or it coulda been totally different. Don’t matter none, really.”

  
  


“How oddly… introspective of you, Scout. I would almost ‘ave to credit you with ‘aving a brain,” snarks Spy, flicking cigarette ash in the Bostonian’s direction and earning a scowl in response. Forestalling whatever undoubtedly foul retort was headed his way by returning to an earlier conversational topic. “Zis absent father your mother spoke to you about, did she ever specify where zhis mystery figure disappeared to after your conception?”

 

“Aw, man, gross! Didja have ta put it like dat?” shouts the younger man, arms flailing as if to physically ward the words away from his person; expression screwed up in pure disgust. Engineer had to jerk backwards, or get struck; much to the espionage agent’s delight.

 

“Do grow up, Scout… it is ‘ighly unlikely zat anyone of your nature and status would ‘ave resulted from anything miraculous, such as, say, divine and entirely immaculate conception.” Spy pauses, and tilts his head pensively. “Well, not unless it was a cruel cosmic joke…”

 

“How ‘bout ya go fuck  _ yaself _ , Spook, and leave my Ma alone?” groans Scout, glaring balefully at the masked man. “And not dat it’s any’a ya business, but she did say some stuff about da guy. Not much really, just dropped a buncha hints dat he was fighting somewhere far from Boston, and only ever seemed ta get leave from  _ wherever da hell he’d gone _ … when we weren’t there. Mostly ‘cause’a stuff like  _ school _ and  _ camp _ and  _ trackin’ down targets _ , and, well,  now  _ this whole thing _ .”

 

He shrugs, “Just kinda assumed it was like da whole _Santa_ _deal_ dat parents feed kids. Ya know, let’em believe that someone who don’t exist will pop up if they’re good, or something along those lines, yeah?”

  
  


There’s a long moment of silence following the statement, wherein no one knows quite what to say. Certainly, of the mercenaries in the room, many had checkered histories and strained relationships with their own fathers… but at least they knew for certain who it was. Or at least, in Sniper’s case, he had someone who stood in the role and treated him like a son; biology be damned.

 

Even Spy doesn’t appear to want to skewer the boy on some scathing verbal barb about the situation. Perhaps the Frenchman felt it would be far too easy a blow, for one of his impeccable standards.

  
  


Finally, Engie takes it on himself to interject. “Now son, ya ain’t come from the usual family situation that’s for sure, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Ah think ya Ma did a great job raisin’ ya under such difficult circumstances, and that don’t mean ah wouldn’t prefer ya ta be somewhere else, like at  _ school _ .” There was the patented paternal glare the man was known for. “But, both you and the BLU Scout seem ta have come good in the end, so maybe ya just need ta focus on the parent ya did have… rather than the parent ya didn’t.”

 

“...as long as ya still think I’m da better Scout.” Mumbled the RED runner, begrudgingly responding to the uncomfortably emotional sentiment, in his usual way. He nudges against the stocky Texan, “Ya got a way with words, Engie, but ya right.”

 

“‘Course I am, son. Now, whatsay we all stop standin’ here glaring at Spook, and go get a bite ta eat? We’ve been standin’ around for too long, and my stomach can’t be the only one that’s rumblin’ after that there battle we had.” Engineer beams, clearly bringing the entire conversation to an end with a jovial tone to his voice. “If y’all can shower right quick enough, we might still have time ta start up the grill, before it gets too dark out.”

 

That particular statement perks up the vast majority of their teammates, who really were bordering on ravenous, though no one had been sure how to leave the tense situation that many of them had respawned into. It was quite unfortunate, that Respawn could bring you back from death… but not fill your belly. 

Then again, that’s what team meals were for; bonding over cooking, and partaking of, homecooked food from all corners of the globe. And no one was more anticipated on the cooking roster, than Engineer and his famous southern-styled delicacies; nobody in their right mind would say no to the man  _ volunteering _ to prepare dinner tonight -even if it was Solly’s turn, according to the schedule.

 

“Sounds like a plan, Engie.” Scout claps his bandaged hands together enthusiastically; shaking off the entire situation as if it had never happened. Jovial and energetic once more, performing for the other members of RED as if all was as usual and nothing that deviated from the norm had just occurred in the locker room. No one actually bothered to call Scout out, thankfully. 

Though the look he shot Spy as he exited the room, trailed by his fellow mercenaries all eager for a scrub and a meal, clearly stated…  _ that this was not over _ . Spy was going to pay for this, and Scout would guarantee that fact.

 

Spy _ didn’t _ follow, it would destroy his image to acquiesce to the will of the masses. And besides, like the Pyro, he never showered with the rest of the team anyway; asbestos bodysuits, gasmasks and woollen balaclavas did not fare well under assault from warm water and soap. Nor were the items all that effective due to the presence of the identity-preserving items.

 

At least, that was the predominant reason. Today, however, no matter how cool his external facade… the reality of it all was simply, that Spy had been rattled by the altercation. A myriad of questions raced through his mind in a flurry of anxious concern that made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

How had he missed such easily-obtainable information? 

How had  _ Scout _ of all teammates, been the one to surprise him with such news? 

How was he going to step foot on the battlefield without being the immediate target for the opposing Scout, from every match until this resolved?

How had he not known?

 

How, how, how?

 

Perturbed, to say the least, Spy decided that it was in his best interests… to make a phonecall.

 

~)0(~

  
  


“I am sorry to call at this ‘our,  _ ma cherie _ , but I do ‘ave something important to discuss with you, and it concerns… ze boy.” Spy says, the minute the phone is answered by a sleepy  _ ‘h’llo? _ ’. 

 

Instantly, she has snapped awake in the way only someone who has raised a brood of accicdent-prone, fight-seeking, chaos-bringing children can. Her voice is grave and urgent as she asks, “What’s happened?”

Tone tinged with maternal worry, and the unspoken promise of an agonising death to whomsoever had harmed one of her beloved baby boys; Spy had seen her enact such justice before, she looked so beautiful, clad in blue fabric and bloodstains. Like a warrior goddess.

He shook his head to clear the memory, before quickly responding to allay her fears.

 

“ _ Non _ , calm yourself  _ ma cherie _ , Scout is fine.” he reassures swiftly, and hears her sigh of relief, as if it rattled through his own bones. It made him hesitant to bring up his secondary point, though Spy did it anyway, as was his nature. “However,  _ mon belle _ ,  _ mon beau guierre _ ... I do believe you may ‘ave left out some very important information about our  _ son _ …”

 

“Oh?” replied an airy voice on the other end, as if she already knew where this was going. That he’d caught on, finally. Spy could sense the cheshire-cat grin adorning her beautiful face as she played along; her tone full of blatantly false innocence as she asks, “And what might dat be, my dear man’a’mystery?”

 

“Oh, nothing much, just  _ zhat zhere’s two of zhem _ !” He grinds out, fighting to keep his tone even as she laughs.

 

“Oh yeah,  _ surprise _ !” Comes that familiar cheeky tone he so loved and despised in equal measures; and, as always, frustratingly finds that he can't stay mad at her. And she knew it too, which made the matter all the worse, from the Frenchman’s perspective. Spy exhales sharply, and runs a gloved hand over his uncharacteristically maskless face, in pure exasperation at the situation. 

 

Clearly, the boys had gotten their warped sense of humour and morality from their dear mother… but, he knew how to gain flip the paradigm, so to speak.

  
  


Jiggling the phone he’d wedged between ear and shoulder, as his other hand held the incriminating photographs that had sparked the revelation. The modus operandi of his… revenge, of sorts. 

“ _ Ma cherie _ , I feel zhat per’aps we need to address zhis situation...” he begins, and can sense she’s already cottoned on to his plan. “Bring a little clarity, about zheir situation, to ze boys. Just today I ‘eard RED Scout state ‘e wished to know… and I ‘ave no doubt zhat ze question is also prevalent in ze mind of our other son, on BLU...”

 

“Go on…” she encourages, following easily and pretending that she hasn’t caught onto the whole scenario before Spy even has a chance to outline it. And he knows it’s only a matter of time before he can implement the plan, with her full support.

 

But, when?

  
  


~)0(~

* * *

 

 

**Epilogue:**

 

Normally, Scout would practically  _ explode _ into base after a familial vacation; either delighted or borderline homicidal, depending on who got the upper hand in the annual sibling holiday brawl. So it came as both a great surprise and concern to the rest of RED team when the runner slunk back into base, followed even more shockingly by his BLU counterpart; with neither making trademark banter, or even reacting to the fact that one of them  _ definitely _ shouldn’t be there.

 

Standing in the middle of the common room, they remained side-by-side whilst steadfastly refusing to look at one another. Unmoving, silent, like shell-shocked soldiers or statues guarding a mausoleum. 

 

“Uh, you okay there, mate?” ventures RED Sniper, while Heavy wrestled Pyro’s flamethrower off of the firebug in the background. The arsonist keen to ‘play’ with the BLU in their base, but unable to thwart the Russian’s strength and gain access to their favourite weapon.

 

Stony silence fills the air, and the temperature around the Scouts seems to drop a few degrees. Clearly indicating that all was  _ not _ well; though both are too stubborn to say anything.

 

“Herr Scout...s, ve cannot help you if you do not explain zhe problem.” Medic soothes, lulled by the holiday spirit, and petting the bloodstained dove, Archimedes, as he faced the two youngest mercenaries. “Do share vhat has put you out so zhoroughly, und ve vill provide vhat aid ve can.”

  
  


“ _ Ain’t somethin’ ya can fix, doc… _ ” whispers one of them, though it’s unclear which Scout spoke.

 

“Come now, kinder, I assure you even the most virulent of infections can be treated…” Medic responds, absently, before Heavy covers the German’s mouth. Shaking his head, when the doctor looks to him for explanation, to indicate that it would appear whatever was upsetting the runners was not of a medical nature… and highly likely had nothing to do with… anything of  _ that  _ nature. He lets out a muffled “Oh” in response, behind the large, warm hand.

“Vould be good for leetle Scouts to speak, now.” The Russian offers, tone indicating that he was not asking… yet not outright commanding a response. Clearly, he understood the peril of providing younger siblings with an open question to answer; and the myriad of ways they would attempt to evade giving a truthful response. 

 

Under his stern, yet surprisingly reassuring, expression; the twins grumble and fidget a bit. Finally sighing, almost in unison, and acknowledging the fact they’d have to say something sooner rather than later. Now it was a contest of who.

 

RED nudges BLU.

BLU jabs a hand into RED’s side.

 

Engineer has to direct his patented  _ paternal glare of disapproval  _ at the pair, before they escalate any further, and get distracted. Immediately, both Scouts deflate under the Texan’s stare; further worrying the RED team, due to the entirely abnormal behaviour being potrayed by the Class.

  
  


“Ma had a surprise for us, this year.” BLU mumbles, eventually, not looking at anyone in particular. “Not da kind ya can return, neither.”

 

RED Scout looked defeated as he followed on with, “Ya know how we had dat fight da other day, in Respawn? Before da holidays? Well, Ma found out somehow and… well, we got ta… got ta finally got ta find out who our… ya’know,  _ gene donor  _ was, yeah? And it fuckin’ _ sucked _ , ‘cause I woulda prefered literally  _ anyone _ but dat guy.”

 

“Well, lads, anyone we know?” queries Demo, raising an eyebrow at the clear currents of disgust and rage peppering their tones. He might just break a few federal laws and slide them something that’ll console their clearly-broken spirits, later on… when Engie and Doc couldn’t throw their disapproving glares his way. 

 

BLU Scout opens his mouth to speak, but snaps it shut when a new party enters the playing field, and cuts him off.

  
  


“Yes boys,” chimes the RED Spy, appearing behind the Scouts with a wide grin; forcefully clamping a falsely-companionable hand on their outermost shoulders and drawing them in towards his slim build with clear glee. Eventuating in what was possibly the world’s most awkwardly uncomfortable three-way side-arm hug in history, right there in the RED base common room. 

 

As the Scouts writhed, trying to break away and out of the Frenchman’s hold; Spy took the opportunity to add in an admonishing, “Now, now, manners, boys! Do tell ze nice gentlemen what you ‘ave found out?”

  
  


“Fuck you!” spits the RED Scout.

 

“I would literally prefer death.” growls BLU Scout.

  
  


Spy makes a false-sounding gasp of shock, and releases one of them to touch his chest dramatically; as if mortally wounded by the words.

“Mon dieu, mes petits, such language!” sighs the Frenchman. “Is zhat any way to talk to your father?”

 

And that’s when the room descended into chaos.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, but at the very least... I am free of this odd little scenario in my head.
> 
> I'd apologise, but we're all going to hell anyway, so... we'll talk then.


End file.
